


Not Yet

by thefoxesfriend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Castiel Angst, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dean Has Low Self-Esteem, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Castiel, Feelings, Internal Monologue, M/M, Motel Rooms, Mutually Unrequited, Romance, Sad Dean, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 04, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, burdens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefoxesfriend/pseuds/thefoxesfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas consider their feelings for one another, alone, but closer than they think. Set mid/end season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yet

_The fullness of his upper lip was almost obscene. His cheekbones cut into a sculpted nose, and faint stubble dusted his chin and upper lip. But it was his eyes. Those were what stood out to him over everything. Blue pools that could be ocean or sky. There was almost no break in the colour, and when his grace flowed through him, they could rival starlight..._

Dean lay sprawled on a motel bed. He was alone in the room, giving him the privacy to trace the contours of the image in his brain. Sam had gone off on a drive earlier in the night to 'mull things over.' A good part of Dean suspected that was a cover to meet up with Ruby, but that was just an aching suspicion. As he tried to fill the hole of his brother's absence with alcohol, other thoughts drifted to the surface - thoughts of Castiel, the angel, but they were so muddled, conflicted and tied to uncomfortable feelings that he didn't know if that was any better. He did, however, know that they were undeniable.

Castiel rebounded through him from the burning handprint left on his shoulder, to the space that he occupied in his dreams, to the way that he made his blood feel like an on-switch had been pulled, and suddenly it was alive with electric current.

God, Dean thought, bringing the whisky bottle up to his lips, he _hated_ angels. Absolutely hated them. Not so much as demons, but still, they were winged dicks, for sure. Cas, though - he was something different. Dean knew that there was something inside of him, and he imagined that if he could only reach it, it would burn hot but oddly comforting, like the feeling he got when a good whisky slid down his throat, but this would go on further than that, igniting his heart and filling him up with a kind of _warmth_ that wouldn't even stop at the pit of his stomach, but would continue further, soothing and sating something in him that had been hungry, hidden and denied for far too long.

But then the stupid thing was...

Dean took another drink.

The stupid thing was the stupidest thing of all, which was to say that the whole thing was completely stupid.

He was human.

He was human down to how his knee ached from where he'd hit it on a wooden beam during his last fight and how now it was sprouting a nice yellow and blue bruise and how the alcohol was drying out his eyes so he kept rubbing them (even though Sam told him once that you shouldn't do that because it damages...something) and there was probably a mosquito bite on his arm because it _itched_ and he was _so damn tired_ because midnight had come and gone, but still his stubborn human brain was too irrational to let his stupid human body get some sleep.

Yep. Definitely human.

And not even a good one at that, but here he was, dreaming about an an Angel of the freaking Lord, whose voice could shatter glass, and whose eyes could blind the unfaithful. Who had wings – _wings_ – that stretched out in shadow because his pitiful human eyes couldn't process their true form. Dean closed his eyes and held the memory of their first encoutner in his brain in a slow-motion replay. Cas had brushed electric sparks off his shoulders like dust, and Dean suddenly felt pathetic. He was felt like a hopeless teenage girl, mentally pasting her face next to a megastar crush.

Cas. _Cas..._ Castiel. Angel of Thursday…Why Thursday? It was a stupid detail, but it almost made him seem ordinary. After all, Thursday was just another day of the week. Nothing important ever happened on Thursdays. Fridays? Sure. And if he was the Angel of Saturday or Sunday (if there was such a thing) there was no way in Hell he'd even stand a chance. A Weekend Angel wouldn't even look at him twice, but Thursday…

Maybe, just maybe, he could score with a Thursday.

Dean took another drink, groaned and rolled over. It was well after midnight, and less than ten minutes later, Dean was dead to the world. The whisky bottle sat limp in the hand that rested over his chest, almost like he was shielding his heart. He was still wearing his boots, which were caked with mud and dirt, and his blood-stained plaid shirt lay open across the bed, in a parody of angel's wings.

 

...

 

Cas entered silently.

There was some sadness in his eyes as he absorbed the sight before him. With no noise, he made his way over to the bed. Oh, Dean…

Castiel brought his face close to the one pressed so deeply into the pillow, close enough to feel his breath. With reverence, his brushed his fingers delicately over light strands of hair. His other hand cupped his face, then found his forehead, where, with closed eyes, he pressed two fingers. Dean would sleep well tonight. Castiel then stood up and collected the half-drunk whisky bottle. He carefully untied Dean's boots and removed them, placing them on the side of the bed. He made his way over to the motel room's closet and got out a blanket, which he spread evenly over Dean's still, sleeping form. Finally, he bent down and raked his fingers through Dean's hair one last time, before placing a final kiss on his forehead, his lips reluctant to leave the precious flesh.

And Cas stayed there, all night.

_I'll watch over you…_

He would always watch over Dean. It was his promise, now. Not to heaven, and maybe not even to God, but to Dean Winchester, in whom he had found his righteous cause.

For the first hour, he stood at the foot of Dean's bed, but then something compelled him to move, and he sat on the motel bed opposite. No…

When dawn broke, Cas was lying on his back in the space in the bed next to Dean. His head was turned towards his, so that if he moved a few inches closer, their lips would touch. Cas closed his eyes, and wondered what it felt like to bridge that gap. He imagined sleeping here, next to Dean, the two of them finding mutual peace in the warmth and closeness of their bodies. Humans always found the most comfort, and yes, also the most pain, in each other. Could he, an angel find that too? Could he find his doubts and burdens erased in the embrace of this one remarkable human being? But what was he to think that? He was just a lowly soldier of heaven, made to serve orders, an instrument of God and a tool of order, nothing more. Could angels even touch those shining souls without using them as an instrument of power? He hoped so, but Dean's soul was so bright…

Five hours later, Dean's eyelids flickered against the break of day. He shrugged off the blanket and flexed his toes, feeling the comfort of a well-rested night flow through his body. He stretched as the tension fell from his muscles. It was a novel feeling which made him look over in panic at the alarm, but it was still only seven o'clock.

 

...

 

Less than an hour later, Dean was in the car. Sam hadn't come back yet. Dean had sent him a text soon after he woke up, and the absence of his response weighed on his mind, along with the usual – Lillith, Ruby, the seals, angels, the apocalypse...

“Hello Dean.”

Dean's breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he felt his heart stop before it began again, pounding uncomfortably hard.

He shifted in his seat.

“Hiya Cas.”

His voice came out strange. Had the angel noticed?

Cas narrowed his eyes and glanced around the Impala. “Where's Sam?”

Cas knew where Sam was, but he needed an excuse to open the conversation to his whereabouts. Dismayed, he watched the tension in Dean's brows return quickly after the brief reprieve of last night.

“He...he's out on a hunt.”

There was silence, where only the hum of the car on the road could be heard. For a moment, Dean felt that the Impala was an uncomfortably confined space. He shifted in his seat, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah...yeah he, uh just picked up on this werewolf thing outside of Wichita, and I thought it would be good to give him a little space to take care of...that.”

In truth, Dean had no idea where his brother was. Or rather, he had a pretty good idea and he didn't want to think about it. Dean had called Sam six or seven times before he finally picked up, saying that he'd gone out for an early breakfast because he still needed 'space'. It was obvious to Dean that Sam had never returned to the motel after he'd fallen asleep. Sam would know that he knew that, too. He wasn't even bothering to cover his tracks anymore. The lie stayed hanging there on the receiver until Dean let it settle and hung up the phone. What else could he say?

He turned to Cas to break his reverie, glancing over to get a read on his expression, but he just stared at the road ahead of them, his eyes squinted and his face immobile. The early sky was overcast, and the lack of light made his eyes look soft and pale. Baby blues, Dean thought. He seemed almost human in that light.

Wasn't he going to say anything?

Cas shifted in his seat, but kept his eyes fixed on the highway. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“Don't worry about your brother, Dean. He's with Ruby.”

“What? That's exactly a reason _to_ worry!” Dean's breath hitched in his throat and he nearly stopped the car short. He had known, but Cas saying it in such a matter-of-fact tone had hit him unexpectedly hard.  _His brother was not here. His brother was with a demon. He was losing his brother..._

 Cas turned to him, sensing his distress. “Dean, it's going to be okay. Sam's not here with you now, but he will return to you.”

Dean looked back at him, desperate to believe in what the angel was saying. “How do you know that?” 

Cas instinctively wanted to tell him the truth - that he didn't know, not for sure, but the same part of him that felt such doubt, fear and confusion – the part of him that not only had emerged, but had grown so much stronger in the past few months, held him back.

Suddenly, he wanted them to be back at the motel room again. He wanted to see the creases of worry on Dean's face smooth out as he placed his hand on his forehead and he wanted to see his eyelids slowly close as he fell into a blissful rest and measure how his body sunk into the mattress from the heavy weight of his limbs...

But they had work to do. They had to stop the breaking of the seals. Comfort was not a luxury the two of them could share. Not yet. So their eyes stayed locked in a stalemate of sorts, worlds of hope that seemed like barely seen slivers of light in a dark room held between them. The air was thick with potential. Their breaths were heavy with it.

Cas smiled. "Because I'm angel, of course." It was a cheap line, but Cas had learned that those were what you said to people to reassure and comfort them, when it wasn't a pain that you could simply erase with a touch of divine light, and Cas was rewarded with the easing of creases on Dean's forehead. Dean let out a deep breath.

"Thank God." He said, sinking back into his seat, and closing his eyes for a moment in relief.

It wasn't that motel room, Cas thought, but it would have to do for now. Satisfied, holding the image of Dean in his head, Cas left. Strictly, he wasn't even supposed to be there. Not last night, either.

One worry eased, Dean suddenly decided to spit out something else that had been on his mind all morning. "Y'know Cas, last night, when I was in the motel, I could've sworn that-"

He stopped suddenly when he realised that he was talking to an empty seat. "Dammit, Cas!" He hit the steering wheel in frustration. Why did he always have to go off like that? Still, he felt much better, even without Sam.

Dean switched on the radio. 

_No, I never got over those blue eyes_

_I see them everywhere_

_I miss those arms that held me_

_When all the love was there..._

He turned up the volume, letting his mind wander to his last night at the motel. Was Cas really there? Was is just wishful thinking, or had he just been really drunk...

The verse turned into the chorus. 

_There's someone for me somewhere_

_And I still miss someone..._

He switched off the radio, and focused his mind back on Lilith, the seals, and the task before him. Dean stared straight ahead, and the only sound was the lonely hum of the road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
